No More 'I Love You's
by Hotchaolic
Summary: Hotch returns home after a long day of meetings, hoping to cuddle up with Jack and Spencer. When he makes it home, nothing is right ever again.


Written for _amy494walker_ who asked: Hotch returns home after a long day of meetings hoping to cuddle up with Jack, Spencer and a movie only to find the house broken into, trashed and splashes of blood everywhere but most importantly; no Spencer or Jack.

Special thanks to my super awesome _ChocolateDivineDiva_ who helped me a lot with this especially with the second scene.

**WARNING:** Character Death

* * *

"Hey," Spencer said, from the doorway to the office, "are you leaving yet?"

Hotch smiled, stretching and rubbing his hands against his tired eyes. "Not for another couple of hours," he said. Seeing disappontment in his lover's eyes, he apologized. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry; I understand, you were in meetings until four."

"You're not mad?" Aaron asked in disbelief.

"I'm not." Spencer smiled reassuringly as he walked into the room. "I'm just going to leave this," he said, laying his reports on the desk. "And this," he said, as he placed a kiss on his lover's lips, "to you. I'll ask Morgan to drive me home. I love you."

"I love you, too. See you later."

Spencer waved and closed the door behind him, then hurried to catch up to Morgan.

* * *

Two hours later, Hotch had struggled to drive home; he felt so exhausted. He parked the car on the driveway, and grabbed his briefcase from the backseat. He wanted to see if Jack was still up, so that he could spend some time with his two favourite men after the long and stressful day he had with the bureaucrats. A quick glance towards Jack's bedroom window showed that it was dark. As was the rest of the house.

There was something off about the picture, something that screamed and needled at Aaron's instincts. It caused his skin to prickle and form goosebumps; he shuddered involuntarily. He realised that he had grabbed the butt of his Glock, having been so unnerved by the stillness of the house.

He cautiously opened the door, and tucked his briefcase to the side of it so he could pull out his flashlight. Hotch slowly crept through the dark house, reluctant to turn on the flashlight, lest he gave his position away to the intruder. Familiarity with the layout helped him avoid the major obstacles that a stranger would bump into. Moving stealthily to stalk his prey, his senses were on high alert as he went from room to room.

Eventually, Hotch decided to risk being spotted by the intruder, even though the likelihood of he or she remaining in the house was growing slimmer. He turned on the flashlight and swept its beam across the living room. The only sounds he heard were his breaths and the muffled footsteps on the carp— He looked down when his foot produced a wet, sticky sound. He glanced up and kept his gun pointed out for any possible ambush, then shined his flashlight at his feet and looked again.

It was blood.

He stooped down to remove his shoes and to avoid contaminating the scene by tracking the blood with every step. The crime scene. His heart clenched in his chest when he had connected the term with what should be their refuge from the darkness they dealt with every day.

He carefully maneuvered his way to the light switch and flicked it, unprepared for the horrific sight greeted him.

There was blood. A lot of it. Splattered along the walls, smeared on the couch and the carpet by the coffee table, congealing among the tangle of the torn curtains under the bay window. There were pools of blood and a blood trail that led upstairs.

Hotch gingerly picked his way through the house, following the crimson trail. He hoped and prayed that his family was safe, that all that blood wasn't either of theirs.

He fought down a wave of panic when he saw the door to Jack's room almost completely off its hinges. A quick glance inside caused his eyes to water.

Jack's room was in shambles— toys and furniture flung every which way, and had blood on them. There were obvious signs that a struggle had taken place. The rest of the rooms were untouched, the last stand having been in a room of such sweet innocence. Hotch blinked, willing the tears away. He sank down to the carpet and stared at the destruction without really seeing anything.

After the numbness eased, he called the others, followed by 911. He was still in shock, try as hard as he did to treat it like any other case. But it wasn't just like any other case. His son and his boyfriend were missing. Their home was swarming with CSIs and LEOs, the exterior bathed in the harsh emergency lights. He gave the detectives the answers to their questions while in a daze, and when the numbness swept over him and he didn't reply, Morgan stepped in to field the questions while Rossi led him outside.

The police report concluded that there were two unsubs, and had entered through the garden. They had attempted to grab Spencer and Jack in the living room. Spencer had managed to put up quite the fight, giving Jack the opportunity to run and hide. Apparently, Spencer had managed to incapacitate one of the intruders, and so some of the blood belonged to one of the intruders. The second one had gone after Jack while Spencer was fighting his partner.

That lead to the showdown in Jack's room. The other intruder had recovered at some point, and had rejoined his partner, overpowering Spencer. There was also the possibility that they had gotten Jack and used him to ensure Spencer's compliance. But there was still so much blood.

And that was what worried Hotch to no end. How much damage was inflicted on Spencer? On Jack? Some of the blood samples belonged to a third donor, one who wasn't in the system. Yet knowing that did little to assuage the fear that knotted itself in the pit of Aaron's stomach.

Ten days went by— ten days of tears, pain and rage. The team didn't know what to do, how to ease Hotch's pain, how to help him through the hell he was living in. They hoped that at least they would be able to find the bodies to give, at least, some peace to his aching heart.

* * *

"Why did you invite me for coffee?" Rossi asked, stirring the black liquid in his mug.

Aaron sipped his tea before answering; he couldn't bring himself to drink coffee after losing Spencer. "I can't take it. Not anymore."

Rossi sighed, pushing his cup of coffee aside. "You can't give up; it's only been three months. We've found people afteryears."

"I can't wait that long without knowing. I'm not as strong as you all think I am," Hotch said, setting his mug down and staring at the tea leaves at the bottom. It was as if he could see the future in the pattern laid out in the bottom of his cup.

"You are. You didn't give up after Foyet," Rossi asserted.

"It was different then; I had to be there for Jack. I still had him and Spencer. I don't have anyone now. My life is empty without them." Hotch looked up from his drink. His eyes were empty, dull.

Please don't talk like that. What if we find them?" Rossi whispered, pleading for Hotch to hold on to hope for a while longer.

Aaron shook his head slowly and stood from his booth, tossing some money on the table to cover his share. "It's been a pleasure, Dave."

"Aaron…?" Rossi asked, his voice full of concern for his friend. Only when Aaron had faded from view did he realize what his friend was about to do. He got up, and threw more than enough money to cover the bill and leave a generous tip, then ran out after the other man.

* * *

It takes a few scant minutes to save a life. However, fate can sometimes be very cruel and unforgiving. Such as a series of events that would not have been so tragic had they unfolded in a different order. Sometimes, the inevitable happens despite all efforts to alter the foreseeable outcome, That fate or destiny thwarts all attempts made to shape it to man's desires and whims.

Sometimes while saving one life, another one was lost. Sometimes good things happen together with the bad, and the happiness is tainted by the sadness. That those moments are sullied and can't be celebrated as one would under normal circumstances. Sometimes, even strong men succumb to the pain and desperation of losing a loved one. Sometimes, even strong man feel the need to put an end to their suffering when they believe it had become too much to bear.

Aaron Hotchner was one of those men.

They eventually found Spencer; the abductors had dumped him in a near-dead state close to the house Hotch used to own.

Aaron wasn't with them anymore; he had made his decision a mere three days earlier.

Morgan wished they could do what could be done in Spencer's favorite sci-fi shows: to go back in time and change specific events; for Rossi to have caught up and prevented Hotch from pulling that trigger, that if he had been unable to drive Spencer home that night, Spencer would have taken the Metro, which would also have meant that Jack would have been safe at Jessica's that night. But there was no such thing as time travel in real life.

Morgan rubbed at the stinging sensation in his eyes and looked at his friend lying in the hospital bed, looking so pale and fragile. He prayed to the God he wasn't so sure was listening to his prayers, asking Him to make Spencer wake up from the coma he was in. He also prayed with all of his heart that He would give him the strength to explain to Spencer why Aaron wasn't there by his side and will never be again.


End file.
